


The Four Times Peter Made One of the Guardians Fall A Little Bit in Love with Him

by bukkunkun



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014)
Genre: 4+1 meme, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Multi, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-14 06:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2181918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bukkunkun/pseuds/bukkunkun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>(And the One Time He Learned to Love Himself)</i>
</p>
<p>Fill for a prompt on the kinkmeme:</p>
<p>Each of the Guardians falls just a little bit in love with Peter during various missions, flights or downtimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drax

**Author's Note:**

> I cheated and made it into ALL downtimes i'm trash
> 
> Anyway I'm having a lot of fun writing this. Even if this is my first Marvel fic. God help me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drax and Peter.

If there was one thing Peter loved about space travel, it was the fact that there were no limits to where one could go. No limits to what one can see.

Space was his.

“We have been making hits at cold-ass places for _two weeks_!” Rocket complained from his bunk in the med bay, whiskers twitching as he let Gamora patch him up. Across him Peter sighed and cradled his midsection gingerly in his arms as beside him Drax was wrapping his left calf with a bandage with clinical accuracy. “We are going on leave. Effective _immediately_!”

Okay, space used to be his, but now with four new roommates, space was, well, his and the newly-christened Guardians of the Galaxy.

(“What a bunch of A-holes,” Denarian Saal had called them, and Peter couldn’t help but agree.)

(Except for the fact that he was, admittedly, included in that “bunch of a-holes”, but he was far from being the nicest guy.)

(He was, also, not 100% a _dick_.)

“I know there’s a system that has planets way too close to its suns near this one.” Gamora commented offhandedly, and Rocket scoffed, whiskers twitching.

“I sure as hell ain’t burning to a crisp either!” he argued, and beside him, Groot, a little bigger than the twigs he started off as, swayed in agreement.

“You’re too damn picky, Rocket.” Peter complained—no, he did not fucking _whine_ —as he leant back in the cot, resting his back against the wall of the med bay, shivering a little at the sudden cold at his back. “It’s too cold here.” He added for a moment, before continuing, “Let’s just fly somewhere nearby where we can thaw ourselves out. Any more cold and my fingers and dick might fall off.”

Rocket snorted in laughter and Gamora smiled a little, but Drax frowned at this, and reached behind Peter to press his large hand against the Terran’s back, warm and solid, lifting him off the cold wall.

“We cannot allow that to happen.” He said, tone authoritative yet concerned, and Peter blinked up at him, confused, but the warmth from Drax’s hand seeped through his jacket and into his stiff-cold back and he sighed contentedly as he leant back against it. “If you lose your fingers you will be unfit for battle, and should you lose your peni—”

“Uh, Drax, buddy,” Peter spoke up, “Figure of speech.”

Drax blinked at him. “But the cold causes loss of limb, correct?”

“Yeah, but not my dick.” Peter snickered. “It’s a metaphor.”

“… Metaphor.” Drax nodded. “I understand.”

“Do you really?” Rocket snickered, nodding at Gamora as she moved away, finished with his bandages. “Well, anyway. I’m gonna go to bed and sleep off this pain in the ass ache. When I wake up, I wanna be somewhere warm.”

Peter and Gamora shared a frown, as Rocket picked up Groot’s pot carefully before slowly ambling away, yawning. “I don’t really know where to go near here.” Peter admitted first, and Gamora sighed, frustrated.

“Neither do I.”

“I do.” Drax spoke up, and the two of them blinked at him, surprised. “My daughter once required a school visit to a planet near here that is warm enough.”

Peter’s face lit up and he smashed himself against Drax’s arm, laughing. “Drax, buddy, I love you, man.”

Gamora hid a chuckle behind her fist. “Figure of speech, Drax.”

“Figure of speech.” Drax nodded, looking down at Peter making himself comfortable against his side. “… Peter?”

“You’re warm.” He replied, matter-of-factly, draping over him feline-like, grinning. “And I’m freezing. Thanks for being a furnace.”

“You mean you are grateful I am hot.”

Peter’s laughter echoed off the walls and Gamora finally managed an undignified snort.

* * *

In the end Drax brought them to a planet with warm weather—if Peter had to compare it to anywhere on Earth, it would have to be somewhere in the Mediterranean.

Gratitude was high and heady with everyone as they all but scrambled off the Milano after securing a parking permit. Gamora went off to do her own thing while Groot and Rocket left not long after they did ‘hey, I’ve been here before,’ Rocket had claimed, ‘beaches longer than the eye could see, and A’askvarii everywhere on summer holiday’ and ‘the drinks at beach parties are great, though’.

That left Peter with Drax, the two of them slowly walking along the beach barefoot, quiet for once, letting the ocean wind toss Peter’s jacket gently.

“So, the beach.” Peter breathed in the scent of the ocean and smiled a little. “I’ve only been to one beach back when I was on Terra.”

“As have I.” Drax replied. “This is the first and only beach I had been to.”

Peter chuckled. “Did you have fun?”

“Plenty.” Drax replied. “My daughter and I tried many things on the beach. Swimming, boating…”

“Ice cream.” Peter chuckled, and Drax paused.

“Iced cream?” he echoed, and Peter gaped at him.

“You don’t know what _ice cream_ is?” he asked, “That’s, like, _the_ prerequisite to enjoying your time at the beach!”

Drax looked at him blankly, but Peter shook his head. “C’mon, buddy, I’m totally fixing that myself.”

* * *

Gamora found Drax and Peter sitting at a beachside bench eating their own cup of flavoured shaved ice—it wasn’t exactly ice cream, but Peter guessed it was enough. He could probably still remember how to make ice cream, his grandfather had taught him how to; he just hoped there was enough milk on the Milano, because, dude, not tasting ice cream at least once in your life was a freakin’ sin.

She approached them, ready to speak up to let them know of their presence, when she heard what they were talking about.

“My little girl, she was 7, and she braved those single-passenger boats herself!”

“Those jet-skis?” Peter was laughing brightly, face lit up wonderfully and warmly in the orange light as the twin-sun sunset cast the world in an orange-purple-blue glow, and Gamora couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her face. “Man, she must have been amazing!”

“Yes, she is my daughter, after all,” Drax was proudly saying, every inch a proud father, and Gamora could see a little of her father in him, and her shoulders slumped a little, before she settled down on the sand in front of them, catching them by surprise.

“Gamora!” Peter gasped, nearly dropping his shaved ice, but she smirked at him and stole a spoonful off his portion, earning her a whine of protest. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“My father never got to take me to the beach.” She spoke up, looking up at Drax, who was smiling a little at her.

“Then you have missed out on plenty.” Drax replied.

Peter paused at this, and sobered up a little. “Let’s fix that, then.” He said softly, and Drax looked at him, eyes a little wide as he saw Peter _glow_ in the orange light. “All of us. This beach. Tomorrow. Sound good?”

Gamora nodded her approval, and a small smile crept across Drax’s lips.

“Yes.”

His chest hurt.

* * *

That evening the team retreated to their bunks in the Milano, but Peter woke to the sound of soft knocking on his door nearing midnight. Blinking blearily, he slowly pulled himself out of bed to open his door to find Drax standing there, looking sheepish.

“… Drax?” he mumbled. “Wh’t up?” he yawned, rubbing his eye.

“I am in minute pain with every shift. I do not understand why.”

Peter looked up at him blearily, and he realised that Drax’s skin had an unusual tint of red. A long moment of processing later, and realisation hit him.

“You have a sunburn.” He replied, grinning a little, and Drax scowled, embarrassed. Peter chuckled, and beckoned him in. “C’mon, you big guy.” He told him, “I think I have burn salve somewhere here.”

“You are not going to laugh at me?”

Peter laughed at that, and shook his head. “Y’know how I said ice cream was a prerequisite to beach fun times?” He didn’t wait for Drax to reply, as he rooted through his things. “Getting a sunburn is another one.”

“It is hardly pleasant.” Drax commented as Peter crowed happily when he found the tube he was looking for. The Terran grinned at him anyway and sat down next to him on his bed.

“That’s life.” He replied, shrugging. “But now you owe me.”

Drax shook his head exasperatedly, and Peter grinned brightly at him. “You’re okay with that, right?” he cocked his head. “I mean, I’m totally paying for the drinks we are so having at parties tomorrow.”

Drax laughed at that, and nodded. “I am indebted to you.”

“A simple yes would have been okay,” Peter chuckled, but they fell into a comfortable silence as Peter’s hands gently slathered the salve on his skin.

He felt the cool pierce the heat, pinching, like how his chest hurt a little when he felt how gentle’s Peter’s small, small hands were, and how wide, wide and warm his smile was.

He decided he rather liked it.


	2. Gamora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamora and Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay these were based on a text post on tumblr actually /////sobs

The first time someone made a snide kitchen joke towards a lady he was with, he didn’t understand what was going on. He had just turned 11 and his hand tightly clasped in Kraglin’s hand as the Ravagers dragged him along a dirty metal-plated road at the ass end of the universe through a marketplace that was both sensory overload and a feast for his eyes and ears and nose and his mouth hung open in wonder, distracted as he crashed into a round woman with three eyes on top of stalks and he gaped up at her in wonder as one of the Ravagers rumbled and shoved him away from her, hissing “Get your fat ass back in the kitchen, bitch,” before pulling the little boy Terran back into their hodgepodge of a group.

He had looked up at Kraglin for an explanation, but all of the Ravagers were more concentrated on their latest haul.

He didn’t get a chance to remember to ask what it meant until he hit 20 and nursing a throbbing cheek with a glass full of ice in a bar at some skip in the middle of everywhere, where the barkeep was a chuckling Shi’ar (or someone near that system, his memories were hazy with alcohol and his world was tilting with inebriation and the surprisingly hard punch he got to the face).

It was something really mean, he had been told, and totally sexist.

Peter, ever the gentleman, made sure he never said something like that ever again.

The umpteenth time he heard that sick excuse of a ‘joke’ was also the last time he wanted to hear it, and it had been thrown dismissively at Gamora by some asshole Baluurian in the middle of a mission in the bad lands of the Negative Zone, and while she didn’t give him the time of her day, still magnificently tearing apart the assassins sent at them in the control room the Guardians, their Xandarian cargo (‘extra luggage’, Rocket had called them, but they was more of an escort client) and a few more Negative Zone denizens had holed up in to stall for time for Nova Corps reinforcements to arrive. When they managed to close the blast doors (too late to keep the smoke out, but at least it kept most of the danger out as Groot began cleaning the air to help them out) Peter took this time to stop, and glare the Baluurian down. He threw a light punch at Drax’s arm and he turned to look at Peter, eyebrow raised.

The Terran lowered his mask and cocked his head toward the Baluurian, who was now looking _very_ nervous. “Hey, Drax, remember that favour I had of you and beating up assholes?”

“Yes?” Drax ventured, and Peter grinned. “… Oh, yes.” He nodded after a moment’s clarity before he, too, looked at the Baluurian. “You wish to ask me to help you… beat up this… anal pore?”

Peter opened his mouth to correct him, but a smile crossed his face and he shook his head. “Close enough, buddy, but yeah. You up for it?”

“I am not lifting myself to things,” Drax curtly replied, but a grin crossed his face. “But I will not turn down your invitation to violence.”

Peter grinned. “Knew you’d see it my way.” He nodded, before they two-teamed the poor guy until the dust cleared in the room to reveal Drax casually inspecting his swords and Peter whistling _Go All The Way_ as casually as he could muster, while innocently kicking at an oddly-twisted arm of the whimpering Baluurian between him and Drax.

Gamora stood in front of them, head cocked and arms crossed, and Peter grinned at her widely as Drax nodded at her reverently.

“Pet—” she began to say, but Peter cleared his throat obnoxiously loudly and she sighed, rolled her eyes and tried again, “Star-Lord.” He positively _beamed_ at her, black smudges on his face and stubble and all, and she shook her head fondly. “Why did you make Drax…” she paused, gave the whimpering Baluurian a pointed look before finishing with, “… Seriously incapacitate him?”

“Oh, gee, me?” Peter immediately replied, waving his hands up in the air defensively. “You know I can’t bend him that bad!”

“You could have very easily asked Drax to do _that_.” She waved at the mess at their feet dismissively as Rocket barking orders at everyone faded into background noise as they could hear the Nova Corps ships arrive.

“I did not.” Peter insisted. “I’m totally innocent, Gamora.” He flashed her his best grin before striding past her, patting her shoulder. “Believe me?”

“What do you think?” She replied, but the fond exasperation in her tone told Peter she didn’t buy a word. He merely winked at her before he sashayed his way to where Rhomann Dey was (newly-promoted after the whole Ronan-and-the-Infinity-Stone thing on Xandar, go figure for him) to chat him up for the sole purpose to annoy him as Gamora made her way to Drax. “What did Peter make you beat him up for?” she asked, watching as med teams took away the squirming Baluurian at their feet, and he gestured at Peter using his sword.

“He merely asked me to without any prior explanation. But I do believe it may have something to do with his comment at you earlier in our fight.” Drax shrugged. “I, admittedly, was not near enough to hear what he actually said but I am sure Peter took some offense to it.”

Gamora hummed. “Thank you, Drax.” She nodded at him, before walking back to where Rocket was, scowling as he watched the Xandarian get taken away by the Nova Corps, blubbering and whimpering as they left.

“Can you believe these wimps?” he began to say, but he stopped when he heard Gamora murmur something about kitchens. “Hey, Gamora, what’d you say?”

“I was wondering why Peter would take offense to me getting told to return to a kitchen.” She told him honestly, as Rocket’s eyes widened in surprise. “I have nearly no experience in a kitchen, Thanos never really saw the need to train me there, but—”

“Gamora, someone literally told ya a ‘get back in the kitchen’ joke.” Rocket shook his head, spitting into the distance. “Nah, it’s not even a joke. It’s some insult to ya, ‘cause you’re a lady and all.”

Gamora frowned at that. “There is nothing offensive about being a woman.” She deadpanned, and Rocket shrugged.

“Exactly. Pete’s sticking up for you, that’s all.” He hurried up her arm and settled on her shoulder to get a good look around the place as the last of the operations cleared out, leaving the two of them with a good view of Peter’s back as he had his arm slung over Dey’s shoulder, a smile wide on his face and Gamora, unseen by Rocket, as the raccoon climbed up onto her head to yell at Drax to get a move on and head to the Milano with them, mirrored the smile on her on face as she sighed a little.

“Goodness. He doesn’t have to.” She murmured, “However…” cooking a meal in a kitchen does not suddenly sound as bad as she thought it would. She reached up and took Rocket off her head gently, surprising the raccoon himself, but she quickly made up for the moment of tenderness by throwing him aside into the rubble, earning her protests and yells, but she merely chuckled and pulled Peter by the ear back to the Milano.

The Nova Corps had installed a mess hall and a kitchen in the ship, right? Perhaps it came with fire extinguishers if she made mistakes.

She’ll try not to—she is, if anything, a fast learner.

* * *

“Here.” She simply told Peter and he stared at her, mouth half-full with Terran cereal, slobs of milk and soggy half-chewed cereal running down the corner of his mouth, as she put down a plate of breakfast.

… Okay, admittedly, it looked more like a charred body of some small creature.

Gamora tried not to remember what Drax said about racoon meat back in the Kyln. She didn’t need that mental image. Not now, when they were good enough friends.

“… What is this?” Peter asked, finally swallowing the cereal in his mouth to speak, poking the black mess on the plate with his spoon as Rocket grimaced beside him at Gamora’s plate.

“Looks like some dead carcass.” He spoke up, as beside his own plate Groot stirred and answered with a tiny titter that sounded apologetic towards Gamora. The ex-assassin nodded back at him before she scowled at Rocket.

“It’s breakfast.” She firmly replied. “I… made it myself.”

Rocket began to laugh as Drax finally approached the table, perfectly scrambled eggs and a few fried morsels of meat on his own plate as he settled down next to Peter, looking at the plate with curiosity.

“That explains the burn marks on the range.” Drax nodded to himself. “You have made a valiant effort, Gamora, but I doubt this is anything palatable.” He told her, “Perhaps you may ask me if you needed assistance?”

Gamora felt her stomach turn past cybernetics and an odd warmth crossed her face, a heat unlike the times her body gave off when she was under great stress or tiring herself out.

“I can manage myself.” She managed, an odd sensation of hesitation in herself, as Rocket and Drax began to speak up, and she did as well, only to cover up the rising sense of mortification inside her as realisation hit her—she was _flustered_ and _embarrassed_ and these emotions were so _Terran_ , this was terribly unfair.

Their voices rose into the usual volume when they bicker, but Peter, unusually quiet through Drax and Rocket’s commentary of her failure of a cooking experiment, suddenly smiled at her.

“Thanks, Gamora, I’ll give it a go.” He said, silencing everyone at the table, save for Groot, who crooned happily, as he pulled the plate close to him, still grinning at her. He took a scoop of it, and gave it a taste, as a moment of tense silence fell over the table.

“Well?” Gamora found her voice to speak, and Peter chewed on it thoughtfully. “ _Peter_?” she asked, her voice growing uncomfortably higher than she wanted it to be, but then he hummed and shrugged a little.

“It’s not bad.” He grinned at her. “A little more practice and it can work out pretty good.” He chuckled and took another spoonful. “I’ll finish this off anyway for breakfast. Rocket, you wanted my cereal, right? Here.” He pushed his bowl aside and pulled the plate closer to him before tucking in.

There was dead silence, before Drax shrugged and began to talk to Rocket about any bounties they could pick up before Nova Corps send them another distressed call, while the raccoon bit back with something about he was busy making a tracker for radiation profiles like the Infinity Stone’s, and Gamora slowly took a seat, watching Peter munch on the breakfast she was sure she failed, and she could feel her chest hurt a little.

She decided she rather liked it.


	3. Rocket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket and Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jacket-stealing tropes keep me alive like belief energy is to that trashy religious order behind certified jerkass adam warlock

The mission had been going fine at the start. A simple go in, get the poor bastard who got themselves kidnapped by the Kree _this_ time, get out.

And, in his case, pick up some shiny trinket or some gadget that caught his eye on the way.

Sure, he’d get an earful of ‘Rocket, where the _hell_ did you get that?’ later back on the ship after all this but that was part of the job description—y’know, Terrans too scared he’ll mess up or something. Hah, _as if_.

Turns out, though, that he _may_ have had a little boo-boo in this particular mission.

“Where the _hell_ are those explosives, Rocket?!” Peter was yelling at him from the maintenance catwalk below him, guns crackling with electricity and plasma shots as the metal creaked and clanged under his power boots as he ran to dodge incoming fire. “We’re trapped up here!”

“I’m nearly there!” Rocket called back, though he knew he was, probably, at maybe 60% getting this thing to work. 65%, if they were lucky. “Just hang on, you twerp!”

“I can’t exactly _hang on_ ,” Peter drawled over the sound of gunfire and shouts and explosions. Somewhere outside they could see Gamora and Drax already in the Milano, taking up their planned position outside, positioning the ship right in front of the window they were currently attempting to climb. “C’mon! They’re already outside with the hostage! We gotta scram!”

“Well _someone_ decided to screw up everything controlled with a remote!” Rocket bit back, and shit, speak of the devil, the bastard breaks into the large, large hall (Rocket wanted to assume it was a convention centre but Peter stood with his opinion of a huge disco room. They were both later proven wrong by their rescued target by telling them both that that room with the, quote Peter, ‘huge-ass window like in Ronan’s Dark Ass-turd’ was actually the cockpit. The two of them concluded after that that this Kree ship was a huge fucking Ronan wannabe) with two _huge_ blasters that, Rocket had to admit, made him drool a little.

 _Just_ a little bit.

Okay, maybe a lot.

“Ew, Rocket!” Peter complained from beneath the raccoon, wiping off Rocket’s drool that had landed on his jacket sleeve. “That’s disgusting, and you have serious problems.” He shook his head as he rushed up to where Rocket was.

“So do you, Quill, but do you see _me_ complaining?”

“ _Star-Lord_!” the Annihilator-or-whatever-his-name-was ( _fucking_ Ronan _wannabes_ ) was bellowing into the room as he completely wrecked the door, much to the chagrin of the captain of the actual ship, who was tossed aside easily like a ragdoll as the much larger Kree stood forward. “Return the Skrull!”

“A little too late for that!” Peter called back, before giddily turning to Rocket. “ _He called me Star-Lord_!” he hissed happily, and Rocket rolled his eyes.

“Great going, Pete.” He drawled, sarcastic, and Peter pouted at him, “But right now, we gotta get out of here or we’re gonna be toast!”

Peter cast a glance at the Kree heading up towards them and grinned at Rocket. “Then we improvise.” He gestured at the two blasters, one glowing blue, the other red, and it didn’t take a genius to know that one ran on heat and the other on the lack thereof. “Go ahead and choose one, Rock. I’ll keep him busy.”

The raccoon grinned. “I can work with that.”

“I’ll see you up at the top catwalk. I’ll get the shields down from the control panel up there while I distract him, you go do your thing on one of that chunkysmuck’s blasters.”

“You got it, Quill,” Rocket made a move to leave, when he stopped, and turned. “Also, _chunkysmuck_?”

“Thinking fast, Rocket.” Peter tapped the side of his head. “Oh, wait!” he shrugged out of his jacket, and Rocket stared at him, bewildered, as beneath them the catwalk shook, the large Kree’s roars filling the air as he—oh, okay, Rocket had to snicker here, the bastard had _two_ blasters, for fuck’s sake—tore the rapport apart by hand. “Here, take my jacket.” He hurriedly said, tossing it at Rocket, whose protests were muffled by leather falling on top of him. He scrambled to get it on his back like a cloak, before shooting Peter an incredulous look.

“I know you’ve been eyeing the blue one.” Peter defended, pulling up his mask and readying the rockets at his boots. “It’s gonna get cold, you’re gonna need that!”

Without hearing another word from Rocket, he leapt off the catwalk onto the nearby ladder, rockets blasting to help him make the jump.

The raccoon shook his head. Peter was, admittedly weird, but sometimes… he gripped the jacket a little. Okay, he might have to admit that Peter was kind of okay.

He shook his head, before turning his attention to the Kree, whose eyes were trained on Peter the whole time. He gathered Peter’s jacket around him, holding onto it tight before leaping forward, whiskers twitching and eyes searching for every crevice in the device he was way too ready to steal, the ache in his chest a tiny pinprick of a throb past the adrenaline rushing through his blood.

* * *

It was like taking candy from a baby.

It also helped that the Kree blubbered like one too as Rocket blasted his and Peter’s way out of the cockpit and into the open, waiting latch of the Milano. Peter was still holding onto the broken control panel he had accidentally pulled out and panting, half-laughing as his mask fell back after the latch slammed shut and oxygen and pressure surged into the room as the door opened to let Gamora rush in, the Skrull ambassador peering in worriedly as she helped Peter sit up before she pried Rocket’s half-frozen fur off the blaster he was holding, frowning a little and raising an eyebrow at the delirious grin on Rocket’s face as she helped him settle down, bundling him up in Peter’s jacket with a nod in Peter’s direction.

“Why didn’t the explosives work?” was the first thing she asked, pressing Groot’s pot into Rocket’s waving arms and his smile shifted from deliriously happy to relieved.

“They had a signal jammer. We tried activating it manually, but we had to improvise.” Peter gestured at the huge blaster Rocket looked a little reluctant to let go of. “Used… the blizzard blaster… thing to get out. Drax hightailing us outta here?”

An explosion shook the ship a little, but it had no damage.

“Does that answer your question?” she replied pointedly, before turning to face the ambassador. “Ambassador, we will return you to your fleet for ready departure for the peace talk.”

“Th-thank you,” the Skrull nodded, before rushing off to the guest bunk. Gamora sighed and turned her attention back to Rocket, who was letting Groot grow vines up his jacket-covered arms.

“What happened to Rocket?”

“Blizzard blaster. He’s probably really cold.”

“I am super freaking cold.” Rocket spoke up. “And stop talking like I’m out cold, I’m right here. Awake ‘n stuff.”

“Yes, probably because of Peter’s jacket.” Gamora turned to look at Peter. “I don’t want to disturb Rocket from this positioning. I can imagine maybe he’s going to have a hard time moving because of all that cold so I hope you don’t mind he’s using it as a blanket.”

“Sure, man, I gave it to him so he can use it,” Peter grinned, before getting up to approach them, stroking Rocket’s fur. That earned him a stuttering hiss but he laughed and ruffled it instead. “Go to sleep and warm up. You’re making Groot cold with how cold you are.”

“Blaster.” Rocket grunted, as Gamora passed the racoon and potted Flora Colossus (uh, twig? Sapling?) into his arms gently, before heading out to help Drax co-pilot the Milano.

“You can tinker with it later.” Peter told him, slowly walking out the room to head into Rocket’s bunkroom he shared with Groot and chuckled at the amount of clutter in there. Blueprints and pens and junk and spare parts littered every available surface, and Peter cleared out a space for him to curl up and sleep on the bed. Gently, he arranged the racoon and his jacket around him warmly, before setting Groot on the most even surface he could find. He got an answering croon of thanks from Groot and he grinned at him before heading out to debrief the Skrull ambassador.

* * *

Peter smelled like leather and metal and whiskey and blaster fluid.

He also smelled like earth, like sweat, beating, alive— _warm_.

Peter’s warmth was around him like a soft, squishy cocoon. He never wanted to get out.

Rocket didn’t know how long he stayed in that warm Peter cocoon, leather worn and soft against his fur, Peter’s scent around him, heady, light and comforting. More comforting, admittedly, than Groot had been to him, ever.

(He wanted to think that it was because Groot wasn’t exactly the warmest, softest he ever had.)

His chest ached a little, but it didn’t hurt.

Rocket stayed like that, thawing out and staying long after just to keep that warm, comforting scent around him for as long as possible. In his tired, delirious mind, he didn’t even pause to think that this was _Peter_ ’s jacket, and by extension, scent, that he was getting attached to.

The thought didn’t even occur to him until he realised he was not on the Milano and that he was, in fact, standing in front of Nova Prime Irani Rael in what looked like the hall for the conference, and _shit_ , no he wasn’t that tall to see her face at eye level, that meant—

“What happened to Rocket Racoon?” he could hear her asking and he felt arms hug him closer to a soft chest.

“Oh, he kinda froze himself getting us out of the Kree ship.” Peter’s voice rumbled from the chest he was pressed against. “He’s still thawing out, but, hey, whoa—”

Rocket squirmed in his arms and dropped to the ground, jacket and all, grumbling, embarrassed as he straightened himself out, pulling the jacket around his shoulders like a cloak.

“Jeez, learn to wake a guy before meeting with pseudo-boss.” He complained and Peter snickered, as he saw Gamora (and, thank God, she had Groot with her) chuckle behind her hand as Drax shook his head fondly.

“Well, I am glad to see he is well.” Rael nodded at them. “Thank you for your recovery work, Guardians.”

“All in a day’s work.” Peter winked at her, and Rocket rolled his eyes, wanting to focus on Peter’s scent in his jacket again—only to find it wasn’t there anymore. A moment of panic blanked out his mind, until Rocket realised that the jacket had probably been with him so long Peter’s scent wore off. Around him the rest of the Guardians began to leave, but Peter stopped next to Rocket to lean down to look at him.

“Hey, buddy, you okay?”

Ah, well. No Peter scent meant the jacket was pretty much useless. He threw the jacket in Peter’s face, before rushing off after Gamora to carry Groot’s pot. Peter spluttered, pulling his jacket off his face, grimacing.

“Ew, this smells like a raccoon!” he complained, rushing after them into the sunset.

A few days later, Peter discovers his jacket missing to find it with Rocket again that midnight, the raccoon curled up into a ball next to Groot’s pot buried within the red leather.

Rocket gives it back to Peter when it stops smelling like him.

He keeps stealing it back, though, to keep that ache in his chest away.

But whenever it goes and leaves the ache, Rocket sometimes wants to admit he rather liked it.


	4. Groot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Groot and Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because i'm a huge sucker for flower language sue me

The first time the Milano hit the ground with a promise of not returning was into the Dark Aster and Peter was sure he was going to walk away from it—well, he won’t be able to walk away from it at all.

(They all thought they wouldn’t walk away from it at all.)

Parting from his precious ship took the promise of death with it, and if you asked Peter, losing his ship was only ever going to be okay if he himself wouldn’t be making it either.

The second time it happened was after a peace congress on the D’Bari home planet, during an escort of Nova Prime’s ship into warp space, coordinates constantly past a desolate, near-dead planet in the same system. The trip happened as it usually would—slow cruising speed, lagging behind the large star-shaped ship, Rocket’s complaining nearly competing with Peter’s yells at him to shut up and Gamora’s amused huffs of laughter as she distractedly kept an eye on the ship as Drax was keeping up a one-sided conversation with Groot, who was crooning at him amusedly as he waved the tiny leaves he sprouted on his body in response to what he said.

It was, supposedly, a simple escort mission, one they’ll easily dismiss and move on to the next ambassador to escort from the D’bari soil to the warp space coordinates. Lather, rinse, repeat.

But a pirate vessel flew in faster than any of them anticipated, the Milano jolting dangerously and the lights flickering violently and soon enough they were engaged in combat, Drax’s laughter loud in his spot at the beam seat as Peter and Rocket wrestled with the Milano’s controls as they weaved in and out between asteroids, dodging fire from one, two, three—four Rajak ships (“Rajak pirates!” Gamora had hissed like a curse, and Peter couldn’t help but agree) on their tails.

“Someone’s up on comms!” Rocket announced as Gamora worked quickly at the screen behind Drax’s seat, hastily sending messages to the D’Bari host fleet behind them for a hasty retreat. “Pullin’ it up on Peter’s screen.” He snickered, as Peter began to protest.

“Hey—” he began, ready to curse Rocket two ways to Sunday, when Irani Rael’s stern face appeared on the screen. “ _Heeeey_. Hi.” Peter amended, grinning sheepishly at her, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “We’re taking care of this Rajak problem, no worries. I think you’re clear for warp jump.”

“ _We are not at the warp space coordinates yet_.” she stated, and Rocket’s eyes briefly flickered at Peter, giving away his worry. Groot, in his pot too large for anyone but Drax to carry comfortably, settled next to Rocket’s seat, crooned worriedly and twined a branch around Rocket’s wrist, pulling it down, tilting the Milano sharply to the side to just barely miss a shot fired at the by the pirates.

“Whoa, shit!” Peter had yelled as the ship tilted to the side violently, and Rocket laughed at him, easing his tension as he righted the ship once more, dismissing Drax’s protest at his missed target, and pointedly ignoring Gamora’s ice-cold glare at him as she pulled herself up from where she had fallen, thrown back from where she was standing at the screen when Groot made him tilt the ship suddenly.

“ _Star-Lord!_ ” Rael spoke up, alarmed. “ _What is the status of your ship_?”

“We’re just dandy, ma’am,” Peter replied, shooting her his signature cocksure grin. “And hey, the coordinates were, ah, a _suggestion_ for warp jump distance. You’ll be _fine_.”

You fucking liar, his three other teammates wanted to tell him, but Nova Prime stared him down as he winked at her.

“I mean it. Hightail it out of here now so we have space to fight back instead of letting us get pummelled like this.” Peter pressed. “Warp now, Nova Prime, and the Xandarian delegation will make it home in one piece.”

Rael paused, glaring him down, before receding. “ _Have panic messages been sent?_ ”

“The D’Bari fleet have held back the approaching delegations and have halted all outgoing launches.” Gamora reported from where she stood, and the Xandarian woman nodded.

“ _Very well. The Nova Corps delegation will enter warp space._ ” She halted for a moment, before continuing, “ _Stay safe, Guardians._ ”

“Will do,” Peter gave her a mock salute and killed the line before turning to his teammates. “So, d’you think their pilots will be good enough to _not_ scratch that huge thing?”

“Want to bet ten credits on that?” Rocket snickered, and Peter smirked at him.

“Ten says there’s one on the hull.”

Rocket eyed the ship critically, before saying, “I’m putting down ten for one for the lateral spire wings.”

“Top spire.” Gamora spoke up.

“Are we all betting?” Drax asked, chuckling. “I shall bet ten credits for a scratch on the nose.”

Peter grinned. “Let’s make sure we get to Xandar first.” He grit his teeth, and lurched the ship to the left violently to avoid colliding with an incoming Rajak ship.

At least, getting to Xandar was the plan.

The fight took them to the nearby planet, where while they took out three of the four ships, the last one proved stubborn and crafty on its wings, dodging skilfully nearly all their shots, and frustratingly, hitting the Milano dead-on, forcing Gamora to call out something Peter dreaded hearing.

“The shields are down!”

“Oh, fu—”

Another shot, and the Milano was nose-diving into thick flora.

The last thing Peter heard before he blacked out was Rocket screaming Groot’s name.

* * *

“… Rrroooo.”

Peter groaned, and slowly sat up, wincing as he felt his muscles and side protest as he straightened up as best he could, only to find his head come in contact with soft earth. He slowly opened his eyes to find he was somewhere pitch-black, damp and soft, and he realised he was underground, as the sound of water dripping filled his ears. Fear creeping into his senses Peter reached into his cloak, and—thank goodness he developed a habit of not dressing down immediately after a job done—pulled out a plasma light ball. He tiredly shook it to find he was half-lying down in a small pocket of air under earth, roots from the trees above him dangling from above him like thin strings, as littered here and there were metal panels and bent rods, some of them holding up the space for him to occupy. The ceiling was low and permitted him to only half-sit up, and, as far as he knew, his legs were trapped in mud, rendering them immovable unless someone dug him out. He made a move to try at least flexing every one of limbs, earning creaks of protest from his bones at every move. He winced, and felt for his side, where he could feel the twitch of wounded flesh, and the warmth of blood. He was injured, but it wasn’t too serious, shit—

“Rrrroooo?” Peter jolted and he turned his head to see Groot’s large pot sideways in the earth next to him, thankfully within arm’s reach.

“Groot, oh God, I’m glad you’re okay,” Peter breathed, reaching out to right the Flora Colossus’ pot next to him, hugging the clay close to himself like a warm body, sighing as he pushed wet hair out of the way of his eyes. “Shit, where’s everyone else?” he cursed, shoving his hand into his jacket pocket—and wincing when he pulled out a mangled piece of technology. “… Great. No communicator.” He looked up and around them, and belatedly realised that the pocket of air was all his space was—nothing more. He bit his lip and he punched up at the roof of earth above him, and his face fell when he realised the earth above him was solid and immovable. “We’re stuck.”

“Rrrroooooot.” Groot sounded up next to Peter, scooting forward as best as he could, and Peter immediately shuffled the pot forward, closer to himself, and realised that Groot was reaching for a steady-dripping water trickle from above them.

“Ah, sorry, yeah,” Peter replied without any word from Groot, and aligned the pot so the water caught in it. Groot crooned thankfully and swayed a little, aiming his leaves at the plasma ball Peter had. The Terran held it up, cocking his head questioningly and Groot nodded his head, the largest leaf—the one on his head—bobbing as he did so.

That put a smile on Peter’s face as he put the ball down between them so Groot could access it better.

A moment of silence lapsed between them, before Peter gently rubbed one of Groot’s leaves between his fingers.

“You’ve gotten so much bigger now.” He spoke up, “Rocket can’t carry you anymore. Hell, even _I_ can’t carry you anymore.” He chuckled, as Groot bobbed approvingly, waving his leaves. “Rocket must be excited for you to get out of your pot.”

“Rrrrooot.” The Flora Colossus agreed, sprouting a surprisingly large violet flower from his shoulder and he plucked it off to hand it to Peter. The human smiled at him and took it from, inspecting it as he twirled the stem between his fingers.

“It’s pretty,” he truthfully replied, before tucking the flower behind his ear. “I think I’ve seen one of these before on Terra.” He said, and his mind whispered thoughts of lost times with his mother and days spent with his fondly exasperated grandfather and realisation crept up on him like a gentle lap of water over his mind.

“Groot, buddy, we’ll be stuck here for a while.” He spoke up, and his companion turned to look at him. “… Possibly a long while.”

Groot looked like he jolted, and he twined branches around Peter’s wrist. He laughed depreciatingly, and leant back into the soft earth behind him like it was his bed back in the Milano. “Between you and me, I think you’ll last longer down here. You have water and light… I think… I might run out of time down here.” He looked down at Groot. “If you know what I mean.”

Groot’s branch squeezed his wrist sadly, and he laughed a little. “Sorry, I’m saying pretty scary stuff.” He gently twined his fingers into Groot’s leaves like he would with Gamora’s hair during quiet downtimes, and sighed. “Rocket told me you’re pretty much a child right now, and, uh, I don’t think I’m being the best adult around you right now right?”

The sapling shook in his hold, and Peter could feel Groot’s worry and childlike fear and he sighed.

“Sorry, buddy.” He sighed, tangling his free hand in his hair.

Groot crooned sadly at Peter and grew another flower from his body. It was small this time, pink, and Peter recognised this one.

“Oh, hey, currant flower.” He smiled a little. “You’ve been growing Terran flowers.” He stroked the flower’s petal with a gentle finger and sighed.

Groot nodded, and grew another one. It was white, with thin petals and a yellow middle and Peter’s smile grew a little wider. “Asters. My mom liked asters.”

Groot plucked the aster off himself and gave it to Peter again, and he chuckled sadly at him. “Thanks, buddy.”

Groot nodded a little, before settling down again. Peter watched him bathe in the white light for a while, and before he realised it, he felt Groot shake him violently and he blinked slowly awake. “Oh, sorry, I think I fell as…” he began to say, but he fell silent when he saw Groot’s worried expression, eyes wide with fear, and shaking leaves and branches, the currant flowers—now many spread on his back—half-wilted. “Shit, sorry for scaring you, Groot. I just fell asleep, that’s all.”

Peter felt a painful twinge in his gut, and he bit his lip as his hand shot up to press against his stomach. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday lunch. Groot looked up at him, head cocked, and he smiled at him to dispel his worry.

“Yeah, uh. Hey, when I was your age—no, uh, when I was a kid, whenever I got scared or upset, I would listen to my Walkman until I calmed down.” Peter felt for his Walkman on his person—and thank God, there it was, nestled in its damage-proof case. “But right now I don’t think taking it out is a good idea to do. I can probably sing, but I don’t know if that’s any better off.” He laughed a little.

Groot crooned at him softly, brushing a leaf against Peter’s throat, and the human blinked at him.

“You want me to sing?”

Groot nodded, before slowly settling down a little, still visibly shaken, but clinging onto Peter’s hand and fingers like a child. Peter chuckled a little at this, before he cleared his throat, adjusting himself so he was lying down more comfortably.

“ _I must have been through about a million girls_ ,” he began softly at first, but when he saw Groot bob appreciatively, he grinned a little, before continuing. “ _I'd love 'em then I'd leave 'em alone._ ”

He sang as Groot swayed to the beat and melody, crooning his accompaniment as he did, more and more flowers blossoming on his back as Peter continued singing, the both of them calming down slowly as time went on.

Peter decided that no, Groot didn’t know his ankle was probably twisted and he might have cracked one of his ribs.

In front of him, Groot looked visibly happier and he grinned back.

And also, Groot didn’t need to know that it was highly possible that Peter would run out of blood before long.

* * *

“Have you found them yet?” Gamora nearly demanded, leaning over where Drax was digging and Rocket was scurrying around, her expression tight and her anger clear on her face. Behind them several yards away was the last of the pirate ships that had chased after them, shot down by Gamora herself using a gun she and Rocket hastily put together. The pilot, unfortunately, suffered a much worse fate.

Beside him Drax grunted disapprovingly. “I perhaps have not dug low enough.” His mind briefly flickered to his own inadequacy and the expression of his wife as she died and something stabbed in his chest as Peter’s eyes replaced hers in his mind and his fists clenched as he dug ever harder again. Never again, he wanted to say, never again would he lose anyone he loved in any way.

“Then try harder!” Gamora nearly yelled. She had learned a new dish from the Sagittarian delegate they had escorted earlier and she was not about to let only two other teammates try it when she made it. Something ugly was rising in her chest and burned in her eyes, something she hastily rubbed away at as she watched Drax and Rocket search for Peter and Groot fruitlessly.

“We’re on it, Gamora, just wait,” Rocket replied, snappy and tightly, as his hands twitched worriedly on his own, his snout and whiskers twitching as he tried to find a trace— _any_ trace of Groot’s or Peter’s scent. The lack of either comforting leafy wood or warm leather added trickle by trickle of worry into his head, as tendrils of doubt began to worm their way into his heart, and, shit, what Rocket would give to have Peter’s jacket with him right now.

In their tension and desperation, realisation dawned on them like a gentle lap of water their minds.

They loved Peter.

More than anything in the universe.

* * *

Groot shaking him awake once more told Peter he had fallen asleep in the middle of singing once more and he realised his body, once aching and twitching in pain, now felt oddly cool and… not pained anymore. For a moment’s delirium Peter thought he was back on the Milano and this was all a bad dream, but he saw his plasma ball and Groot’s worried expression towering over him, and he knew he wasn’t.

He was probably going to die here.

“Hey, buddy.” He weakly smiled at him, and Peter belatedly realised that his wound was still flowing and it was probably infected now with how long he had stayed in a singular position. “Sorry I fell asleep again.”

Groot squeezed his wrist worriedly, and he smiled. “I’m f-fine,” he stammered, and Groot straightened up in shock. “N-no, seriously, Groot—”

Groot ignored him, and with great care lifted Peter’s side to reveal the still-bleeding wound. The Flora Colossus straightened up and looked panicked. “Heh, sorry, I just,” Peter began to say, but Groot leant forward, tipping off his pot and spilling wet pot dirt over Peter’s legs, landing on top of him to hug him sadly. “Groot, you’re not supposed to be out of your pot—”

“Rrrrrroooooot.” Groot’s voice rumbled, unusually loud in the small space, and Peter’s expression fell. “Rrrrrroooooooot.” The sapling’s voice sounded mournful, and Peter’s eyes burned with tears.

“I’m sorry.” he softly said, stroking Groot’s back, ignoring the splinters in his skin as wood trembled under his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“Rrrroooooot. I…”

Peter blinked at him, past tears blurring rainbows in his eyes, and Groot lifted a branch to wipe it away.

“I am Groot.” Groot said, and Peter’s eyes widened.

“You can talk again.” He breathed.

“I am Groot,” Groot mournfully replied, squeezing Peter reassuringly. “I am Groot.”

Peter laughed weakly, hugging him back, and sighed. “Amazing.”

“I am Groot. Groot.” Groot brushed a leaf against Peter’s throat, and the human chuckled.

“You want me to sing?” he ventured again, and Groot nodded.

The human shook his head fondly, and began again. “ _Ooh, child, things are gonna get easier_.”

It was a little ironic singing the song that had saved the galaxy when he was near sure he was going to die, but at least Groot seemed happy.

“ _Ooh, child, things’ll get brighter. Someday, yeah, we’ll get it together and we’ll get it all done_.” He thumbed at the currant flowers spread across Groot’s back, as his voice wavered a little, cracking as he continued to sing. “ _Someday, when your head is much lighter._ ”

“Grooot.” Peter’s eyes widened a little and something spilled down his cheek (water, water, it was _water_ , Peter’s mind denied) when he realised Groot was _singing along_.

A smile spread across his lips as he continued. “ _Someday, yeah, we’ll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun. Someday, when the world is much brighter_.” His voice lowered and darkness started taking his mind again, lulling him into fatigued sleep.

“I am _Groot_!”

Peter let his eyes slipped closed.

Around him branches began to snake protectively, as above them the earth began to shake and dribble away, and sunlight poured in through a tiny hole and—

“Peter!” Drax’s voice was yelling, and Peter was sure he had fallen asleep, nestled in a cocoon of wood as cold darkness took over him.

_Someday, we’ll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun._

* * *

Peter woke up in a soft, comfortable bed and thought, wow, how nice it was to be dead.

“I am Groot.” He heard a soft croon and he turned his head to see Groot, larger than the last time he saw him, yet not big enough to be who he used to be, smiling at him— _no longer in his pot_. That made him tear up a little.

Peter realised then, that no, he was not dead.

The door hissed and he looked down at the edge of the room to see Gamora, Rocket and Drax hurrying in, Rhomann Dey at their heels, looking equally worried.

Something stung in his eyes.

Yes, definitely _not_ dead.

He was, instead, very much alive, possibly in a hospital in Xandar, and, holy shit, he could see a repaired Milano parked right outside the window (and, judging from Dey’s pleased expression at it, was probably his work) to totally rest his worries.

“Peter!” he heard his teammates call his name, and soon Peter was swarmed with three too-frustrated-worried teammates and a peaceful, amused Flora Colossus all grateful he was alive.

Beside him Groot hummed, pleased, and grew out a white tulip from his shoulder, tucking it behind Peter’s ear as he talked with the rest of the team, tiredly apologising and thanking them all at the same time.

By the time the conversation died down, there were a bunch of several other white flowers arranged around Peter’s head, Groot smiling at his handiwork, pleased, and Peter laughing, flustered, as Gamora gave a go at weaving her own flower wreath and pulling Drax into it. Rocket lay back on top of Peter, watching them learning from Groot while Peter made snide comments, but graciously accepted the flower crown Groot made as a demonstration when it was handed to him.

Watching an ex-assassin, a Destroyer and a raccoon fumble with flowers, Groot’s smile widened and his eyes met Peter’s, mirroring his own happy expression, and Groot was happy.

If he had flesh and blood, then Groot would say his chest hurt.

He fully admits he rather liked it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First flower: crocus – youthful gladness;   
> Second flower: currant – thy frown will kill me;   
> Third flower: aster – patience;   
> Fourth flower: tulip – declaration of love.


	5. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \+ One time he learned to love himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I never mentioned what flowers Groot left on Peter's pillow. They're all white and these are what they mean.
> 
> Camelia: Perfect loveliness.   
> Carnation: Innocence.   
> Chrysanthemum: Truth   
> Clover: Think of me  
> Hyacinth: Sublime loveliness  
> Lilac: Youthful innocence   
> Lily: Sweetness   
> Rose: I am worthy of you 
> 
> as well as the other flowers i mentioned before. did i mention i was a huge sucker for flower language in fanfics because i totally am
> 
> anyway, tw for mentions of self-harm. I've amped up the rating to T for this and added the appropriate tags just for safety.

Bad days simply _happen_.

A product of growing up rough, or bad parenting, or the lack thereof, he didn’t know, and he didn’t really want to bother finding out how they happened to him like this.

All he knew was it was something Peter grew up with, and learned to deal with on his own.

With a lighter, a sharp blade, knuckles in his mouth and tears (no, water, water, _water_ ) running down his cheeks. Alone. With the Milano parked behind an abandoned moon, where no one could see him cry.

Where no one could see him break skin with flame-hot metal by his own hand.

(The pain, after all, was his payment for another moment ruined, or a haul missed, or failing Yondu _again_.)

It happened for years. He lost count how many times bad days _happened_ and he knows they will always come, whether he liked it or not. It was just a matter of time when it gets to him and how hard it would hit him when it did.

He likes to think he has it down pat; that he was _fine_ and that no one had to know about his _days_ and _habits_ and how he has hyper-med tech anyway and no one would notice he had uneven cuts too clean to have gotten from the line of fire.

At least, he thought, he had his Ravagers jacket to hide the scars. He can continue making them and then hyper-healing those like it was no one’s business, and no one will be none the wiser.

But then the whole orb-Infinity Stone-Thanos-Ronan-Xandar-nearly dying-Guardians of the Galaxy… _thing_ happened and suddenly the days stopped coming. The Milano, once the home of one now home to four (and a growing Flora Colossus) and suddenly he didn’t find the time to have _days_ and he never, ever found a reason to.

The _days_ never found him, because something else had—a new family.

Mornings spent alone singing into his spoon at the table turned into having small food-fights with Rocket over breakfast as they passed Alpha Centauri. Afternoons chasing after bounties in tiny alleyways turned into impromptu parkour races between him and Gamora, grins plastered on their faces as the thrill of the hunt and adrenaline ran high through their veins. Evenings sitting with junk food on the couch as he watched the news alone turned into cooking lessons from Drax as he taught both Gamora and Peter. Nights spent listening to his mother’s _Awesome Mix Vol.1_ to lull himself to sleep turned into nights where he would sing Groot to sleep, but ending up falling asleep before the Flora Colossus would. It was those nights where he would wake up to find someone had put a blanket on his shoulder and he was squeezed between Gamora and Drax, Rocket a furnace on top of his face as they were all curled around Groot’s pot.

It was so natural for them to fall into this rhythm of life.

Peter never again had a _bad day_ since he met them.

(Deep, deep down inside him, he knew it was just about to get worse, the hit harder than it will ever be, now that he had put it off for this long, but even deeper inside him, he wished it would never come back, he wished the _days_ would leave him for good with his new happiness, his new family, his new love.)

When he woke up in Xandar after the Milano crash, Peter thought he had died. He thought that maybe, just maybe, the days stopped and that he at least had died happy.

But then his team ran in, _worried_ for him, and that night, when Gamora was curled up next to him in the bed and Drax was the only one awake, and Groot was resting on the headboard with his flowers still strewn around Peter’s pillow, and Rocket was stuck in the tiny space between him and Gamora, Peter cried. He cried and cried and cried, even as Drax lifted the top half of his broken body up and arranged him gently in his arms to not disturb Gamora or Rocket, even as Drax soothingly stroked his hair and back and softly murmured assurances, even as above them Groot stirred and slipped a white hibiscus behind Peter’s ear, rumbling comfortingly.

When Peter realised that Drax was asking him why he was crying, he hiccupped like a child, and smiled past the tears.

“Thanks, guys.” He had simply said, and cried anew.

So this is what it is like to be loved, he thought as he cried himself to sleep.

* * *

And the days of the Guardians of the Galaxy continued, dangerous, wild, bad, good—both. For the first time in years, Peter was truly happy.

But like all the other _days_ , _it_ came back with a crushing _vengeance_.

* * *

They had run into an alien with so much consonants in its name Peter never bothered to learn how to pronounce it one day. It had trapped the five of them into separate chambers (like  _that_ ever worked, he had laughed as the goon walked away without so much a word to him) and Peter, as always, knew that they would bust out soon. It would only take a little time, but one of them will make it. If not Drax, then Groot. Maybe Rocket can rig something up, or Gamora could manage to, as always, kill someone and get the doors open. Maybe he could—

He stopped for a moment, and tried again.

Maybe he could, uh… gosh.

He stopped, slowed his train of thought as he approached the door. It was made of plasma and the dispensers looked like they were triple-reinforced. The walls, as far as he knew, were made of some crystal alloy and… shit, wow, okay, it looked impossible to break out of here.

Peter’s mind slowed to a halt.

He couldn’t do anything.

“Wow, that’s… that’s kind of…” he laughed weakly, mostly to himself as he backed a step away from the door. “Okay, so I really can’t get out.”

He had been stripped to just his pants and shirt (thankfully the Walkman was back on the Milano). He had no tricks up his sleeve. There wasn’t even a control panel near him or a dumb-ass schmuck he could trick into opening up for him.

Huh. He was, truly, _trapped_.

 _Useless_. A voice hissed in the back of his mind and his eyes widened.

That’s right. In a team of cybernetic-enhanced people (well, okay, one was a raccoon), a freaking Destroyer and a sentient tree that could take out a legion on his own, he stuck out like a sore thumb. A sore, weak thumb that would probably be better off amputated.

He paused, and shook his head. Now was _not_ the time for _days_ to start coming back, God.

But hey, it wasn’t like he was the only one with problems. Gamora had Thanos. Groot was the last of his kind. Drax lost his home and family. Rocket had scientists. They all had it worse than him, and yet who was taking things the worst? Some squishy Terran with squishier Terran feelings and god _damn_ _it_ , it wasn’t like Peter asked for anything like this. It wasn’t like Peter _wanted_ to be a weaker link, but here he was right now, being exactly that.

After all, who busts them all out of sticky situations? Drax. Groot, sometimes.

Who rigs up escape routes and fucks up the enemy base with lightning-fast typing and faster thinking? Rocket.

Who gets the highest kill count and actually gets shit _done_? Gamora.

What does _he_ do on this team, anyway? Goof off and make jokes. Dance sometimes. Sing their ears off. Get into trouble. Get captured. Screw up plans.

Peter winced. He gets it.

Generally, be a failure. Shit, these guys didn’t need him, all he did was…

Peter’s eyes widened as the memory of his teammates’ faces back on Xandar when he woke up flooded his mind and those felt like stabs to the chest.

All he did was make them worry and get them into deeper trouble.

Shit, they really didn’t need him around.

Balling his hands into fists he fought the burn in his eyes and shook his head. He would _not_ cry here, shit, please, no—

He stopped short when he heard deep laughter and he looked out the plasma door to see that alien with consonants for a name reaching through the plasma towards him, and at the back of his head he realised it looked like one of those monsters from Greece that he learned back when he was on Terra.

(A search on Xandarian information database on Earth knowledge later verified that he was thinking of a Minotaur.)

“That is your true self.” The beast was saying, reaching for him, and instinctively he flinched and blocked it with his arms. Hot, hot fur wrapped around his wrist and searing pain burned down his arms, tearing a scream from his throat as familiar pain burned anew down both his arms, warm, warm blood trickling down hot like the burn in his eyes.

“You are weak. Useless. You are not loved, you pathetic little Terran. You waste of time. Waste of breath. Waste of space. You are crying, you weakling.” He could hear his own voice in the beast’s voice thundering in his head.

Peter hadn’t realised he was crying until he realised he could see blurring rainbows in his eyes.

“I—I’m—I’m—”

“Say it.” The beast was breathing heavily, leaning over him, eyes boring into his.

(Hey, he’s seen something like this before, his barely-conscious rational thought whispered in a tiny voice in his head. This is like those tricks those telepathic asshole aliens did to know his deep secrets and stuff…)

“M-my team, they don’t—they don’t—”

The beast’s maw parted, and warm breath ghosted over Peter’s skin, giving him goosebumps but he couldn’t look away from those eyes.

“Tell me your deepest fear, human.”

“M-my team, I love them all, but they don’t need—”

“Peter!” he heard Gamora scream, and his mind snapped out of his reverie—

To feel the walls crumble around him to the sound of Rocket’s triumphant laughter, to feel Drax scooping him up into his arms, squeezing reassuringly, as around him he saw in a blur of green and brown Gamora and Groot charge forward to tackle the beast to the ground. Drax carried Peter to somewhere safer and carefully inspected him as he knelt down. Upon seeing the slashes across his arms, his eyes widened, and pulled Peter’s shirt off, tearing it into two before wrapping his arms in them. “What has he done to you?” he hurriedly asked, as behind them they could hear the noise of Gamora, Rocket and Groot valiantly fighting against the beast.

Delirious, Peter didn’t reply, and instead whimpered as Drax handled his cuts with a gentleness uncharacteristic of his large hands.

“Peter, tell me.” He insisted gently, but Peter shook his head deliriously and shook in his arms as he began to dry-heave against Drax’s shoulder.

“I will not be defeated!” the beast roared, knocking Rocket to the side as easily as Ronan had. “His fear, his crippling depression is what powers me!”

“Flarking belief power,” Rocket swore loudly, springing up to scratch wildly at the beast’s face, earning him a roar of surprise at the suddenness. “First the Universal Church of Truth and then assholes like you—when will you ever learn that shit ain’t what it’s all cut out to be?” Rocket blasted him with a shot from the blizzard he picked up from the Kree with Peter, freezing him in place, but the ice was steadily cracking. “We gotta blow this place up, we can’t risk losing time convincing Quill to stop believing!”

“I am Groot!” Groot bellowed and picked Rocket up.

“We have to get off the ship!” Gamora called, running out to where Drax and Peter were. The Destroyer stood up to full height, nodding at her, but Gamora slowed down to a jog, her expression softening a fraction as her hand reached out to Peter’s head, a moment’s hesitation clear and coming, but Groot curled a branch around her wrist and tugged on it gently.

“I am Groot.” He told her solemnly, looking her right in the eye before heading ahead, Rocket on his shoulder barking directions on where they should go.

Gamora knew what that meant— _we have time later_. Gritting her teeth and suppressing the worry in her gut, she turned her attention back to Drax and nodded, before rushing ahead. Drax followed after her in the rear, careful not to jostle the distraught Peter in his arms as they all hurried to get out of the ship, Rocket yelling at them from ahead that he had already rigged the place to blow wirelessly and they needed to _hurry_ or else—

“ _The Guardians of the Galaxy_!” the beast bellowed after them, the ground shaking at the intensity he stomped at. “Return to Terran to me!”

“No way in hell!” Rocket yelled back at him over the sound of the ship systematically starting to fall apart, alarms blaring every second they ran.

“Only _he_ can feed me!”

“Hey, buddy, if you can’t feed off the four of us, then we’re going to make it sure as hell you ain’t feeding from Quill!” Rocket stood up on Groot’s shoulder and fired again, but the beast flicked off his blaster shot with a taunting laugh.

“See how your tricks fail against me! All this is leading to me growing stronger!”

Drax’s eyes widened and he looked down at Peter to see him digging his thumbs into his wounds in his wrists and with a disapproving hiss, he swatted Peter’s bloody fingers away from the cuts. “Peter, what are you doing?”

“This is my fault, I’m so sorry,” Peter weakly apologised, eyes hazy and shimmering with tears ready to spill. “God, I’m so weak and useless, it’s fucking charity that you guys still keep me around—I, I get you all into all kinds of shit and—and—”

“Did he tell you this?” Drax demanded, glaring at the beast and looking ready to unsheathe his swords, when Peter blubbered and protested wildly as Drax put him gently down on the floor.

“No, no! It’s me, it’s my fault, just stab me so I can be over and done with this!”

The fight died down as Peter’s voice rang clear through the air, and the beast began to laugh tauntingly. “He is his own undoing!” it declared triumphantly. “He will kill you all!”

Peter whimpered pitifully and curled up on the floor in front of Drax’s feet. “Just leave me here. That’s fine too.”

There was a moment of silence, before Gamora turned to face away from Peter and Groot jolted, looking ready to stop her when she spoke up.

“Very well. If you want to stay behind and die on this ship, then so will I.” she declared, throwing her swords down on the floor, shocking Peter.

“Gamora, no—”

“As will I.” Drax declared, settling down next to Peter.

“Drax—”

“I am Groot.” Groot nodded gravely and took a seat. Rocket grumbled and threw his hands up.

“Okay, fine. Me too. I guess.” He mumbled, before scrambling to stuff himself into Peter’s shirt, squirming around. “If I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die smelling leather, blaster oil and squishy Terran.”

“Groot… Rocket—”

An explosion shook the ship, and the beast stumbled, clearly shocked at the actions of the Guardians.

“M’natk’r.” Gamora steely said, despite the ship falling apart. “Peter Jason Quill may not believe he deserves to be loved, but we will always love him.” She turned to look at Peter, and there was only a smile on her face. “We will never move on, we will love him long after he is gone.”

There was a small slip in his mind, and it felt _wonderful_. He could see a sliver of light in the delirium of his mind, and Peter opened his mouth to speak.

“I love you guys too.” He quietly said.

The beast let out a shriek and fell back, clutching his chest. “What—where is it?! Where is his belief?!” he demanded, and Gamora’s eyes widened, before she turned to face her team.

“Peter—” she began to say, before Rocket let out a hoot and scurried out of Peter’s shirt.

“Okay, move it, a-holes, we haven’t got all our lives left!” he cheered, rushing up Groot’s arm. “Let’s get out of here!”

Drax nodded and picked Peter and Gamora up, before rushing down the corridor back to the landing bay where the Milano waited for them.

All that time, Gamora had slipped her hand into Peter’s, and for first time in what felt like forever, Peter fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

“Peter?”

Peter groaned as he felt fur brush across his cheek. Slowly he opened his eyes to see Groot, Gamora and Drax leaning over him as he lay back. Rocket was nestled against his hair above his head on his pillow, flicking his tail in front of his eyes to wake him up. He slowly sat up, blinking at his team dazedly, feeling a fog lift from his head and eyes as he realised they were back in his room on the Milano.

“Guys?” he ventured, lifting his hands to rub at his eyes—flinching when he felt a dull sting up his wrists and realisation dawned on him as he looked down to see the scabbed-up healing cuts up his arms. “Oh, shit, oh, _shit_ —”

“Peter.” Gamora softly spoke again, pressing her hand on his shoulder reassuringly.

“I’m... I’m sorry you guys had to see this,” Peter gestured at his wrists. “I, uh… this isn’t something I’m particularly proud of.”

“The M’natk’r was a telepath.” She continued as if he had not spoken, settling down to sit on the side of Peter’s bed. “He harnesses belief energy similarly as the Church and had been looking for fresh, potent sources of traumatized beings that would power him enough to, as he believed, destroy worlds.”

“He used his telepathy to look into our heads.” Drax continued for her. “He used our fears in an attempt to get any reaction that would strengthen his belief energy.”

“All he got was kaput.” Rocket spoke up from above Peter’s head. “Serves the bastard right.”

“I am Groot.”

“You said it, buddy.”

“Of course it wouldn’t work, you guys… you guys are the strongest people I have ever met.” Peter spoke up, and chuckled depreciatingly. “And I’ve met a lot of people.”

“But Peter, our belief was just as strong as yours.” Gamora told him quietly, squeezing his hand with her slightly shaking one. “The memories he made me relieve were devastating.”

“I could not bear watching my wife and daughter dying over again.” Drax agreed gravely.

Rocket said nothing, but Peter could feel the raccoon dig his snout into Peter’s hair, tiny paws shaking as he held onto ginger hair, and Peter felt his lip tremble.

“And I couldn’t handle my own self-hate.” Peter replied bitterly. “Compared to your problems, what’s mine?” he asked, shaking his head. “Told you, I’m useless.”

“Peter, you saved us.” Gamora cut in. “Through all the memories of Thanos and Nebula that beast showed me, I remembered you. I remembered what I now have with you, with everyone.”

“As did I.” Drax nodded. “You are my family now.”

“It was the thought of you that pulled me through—you told me that there was something else I could be happy about, something I didn’t fail at.” Gamora’s face heated up, and she brushed her hand over Peter’s hair. “You saved us.”

“And you also kinda killed the guy, too,” Rocket spoke up right next to Peter’s ear. “If that ain’t useful, then I don’t know what is.”

Peter bit his lip. “But I—”

“Hearing you tell me how much you hated yourself was distressing.” Drax nodded. “I never expected to hear anything like that from you.”

“I’m sorry.” Peter sighed. “I just… I’ve never known any other way of making it up to anyone when I fuck up, so I just always thought that…” he looked down at his wrists. “I thought that getting hurt was the only way.”

“I am Groot.”

“He’s saying that’s never the right way.” Rocket helpfully translated. “And, personally, Pete, I’m gonna agree with that one.”

Peter blinked at him. “What do I do, then?”

“Try not hating yourself?” Gamora ventured with a half-shrug, and the others slowly nodded in agreement.

Peter opened his mouth to disagree, how the hell was he supposed to do that, but then she leant in and hugged him close. He stiffened up in her embrace, before he melted helplessly into her arms and sagged in her hold. Drax soon draped himself around them, Rocket squeezed himself in the space between him and Gamora, and Groot wrapped his branches around them all.

Instead he huffed a tired but happy laugh.

“Okay,” he said, looking down at his scars. “I’ll… I’ll try.”

* * *

“Reason number… fuck, what number are we on?” Rocket demanded over the gunfire, as Peter laughed helplessly, every bit as pinned down as the rest of his teammates. Groot’s ‘I am Groot’ was barely heard over the fire, but Rocket nodded anyway and rubbed his snout against Peter’s cheek. “Reason number 63.” He said, “When you get us into shit like this.”

“How is that a reason to—”

Beneath them the ground suddenly gave away and the two of them fell into a tunnel, screaming as they slid down pitch blackness—until they landed on something that made a clinking metal noise. Peter hurriedly searched his jacket pockets until he pulled out his plasma ball. He shook it and light filled the room—to reveal they were sitting on the largest pile of gold coins Peter had ever seen. And he’s been to places.

“Reason #63.” Rocket grinned at him, tapping at a scar on Peter’s arm, before whooping and sliding down the pile to start hefting gold into bags he had with him.

Peter watched him work, laughed, and shook his head, before sending a message to Gamora and Drax to get down with them and the treasure—they were going to be _rich_.

So this is his life now.

The other four took the initiative in Operation ‘Teach-Peter-To-Love-Himself’ (as Peter liked to mockingly call their effort) and began listing reasons why they loved him for every scar they found on him.

Though, by this time, Peter was _sure_ he hadn’t made it to 63 cuts. He had told the team something like that when they had hit 50, but they continued anyway, casually telling him things they liked about Peter, no matter how mundane it was, usually accompanied with an affectionate gesture he was sure they had talked about amongst themselves that day after Peter fell asleep.

It was helping. Really, it was.

Fighting away the depression was hard on his own, but now he had his new family and he wouldn’t give them away for anything in the galaxy.

Gamora and Drax arrived not too long after Peter sent for them, Groot at their heels, and they began to collect the gold. Old habits die hard, and Peter was smiling throughout.

“Hey, guys.” He spoke up, and they all looked up, stopping what they were doing. He grinned at them all. “Reason #1. You all put up with me and love me.”

Gamora’s eyes widened a little and Drax smiled. Rocket buried his face in Groot’s neck and the Flora Colossus let out a happy, rumbling “I am Groot”, that echoed through the chamber they were in.

“Thanks, guys.” He smiled sheepishly. “I mean it.”

“You’re welcome.” Gamora smiled at him, but let out a small hum of surprise when he came up to her to plant a kiss on her forehead. “Peter.”

He chuckled, shrugging, before planting a kiss on the rest of the team’s foreheads (Peter couldn’t reach Groot’s and settled for his cheek) before standing back.

“I love you guys.”

Rocket grinned and laughed a little.

“We know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I totally made up that alien's name. Inspired by DW's Minotaur from the God Complex.
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much for reading this! This was my first Marvel fanfic and I am truly happy it had such a great reception. Thank you all very much for your patience in waiting for this. ;u;


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